“I’m overwhelmed by the clothes you bought me,” she stated breathlessly, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder as she lengthened the distance between them. It was safer that way. “I’ve been thinking that I must have some clothes of my own somewhere.”
“It doesn’t really matter if you have,” he replied, contemplating her from beneath his brows. “Outfitting you with a wardrobe isn’t going to put me into debtor’s prison. We’ll have to attend to its completion when you feel up to leaving the house.”
Lierin experienced some bemusement of her own. “Aren’t you afraid I’m only after your gifts and your wealth? Especially when there’s still some doubt I’m your wife?”
Ashton laughed softly. “Who prattles about doubt?”
She answered with a tiny shrug. “Some think you’re being fooled.”
“Marelda has come to visit you?” he inquired and, at her reluctant nod, captured the wide, emerald eyes by the intensity of his stare. “Marelda never saw you before the other night, and she’d be the last person to admit that you’re my wife.”
“I wish it were as settled in my mind as it seems to be in yours.” Turning away, Lierin pressed her fingers against her temples and shook her head in frustration. “I know the memory is there, waiting to be brought to the surface, but there seems to be a barrier that prevents it. There are so many things I need to know about my life.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m a stranger even to myself.”
“I can tell you a few facts,” he murmured, moving near. “But our time together was so brief I fear they’re not very significant.”
She faced him and searched his face. “Please…tell me everything you can.”
A warm glow came into the smoky depths as he stared down into her troubled face. He reached out a hand and gently smoothed an errant strand from her cheek. Then he stepped away, relating the facts as if he had memorized them. “You were born twenty-three years ago in New Orleans and named Lierin Edana Somerton. Your mother, Dierdre Cassidy, was of Irish descent, and your father came from England. You have a sister, Lenore Elizabeth Somerton, who was also born in New Orleans….”
“Which of us is older?”
Ashton paused, glancing back at her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my love. I was so enamored with you, some details were left wanting.”
The endearment and statement brought the color rushing back to her cheeks. Her voice was barely a whisper as she urged, “Go on.”
Ashton stepped to the windows and, pulling the draperies aside, looked out over the grounds. “When your mother died, she left you and Lenore a coastal home in Biloxi. You also have a house in New Orleans bequeathed to you by your grandfather. The will was drawn up while you stayed with him, and although he died believing you had drowned, it was never changed.” Dropping the silk panel over the window, he faced her, folding his hands behind his back. “So you see, madam, you have possessions of your own, and with your father a rich merchant in England, you’re quite independent of my wealth.” A slow smile touched his lips. “Indeed, were I a fortune seeker, you would be a very prime target for my attentions.”
Her spirits responded to his humor, and in a half-shy manner, she gave him retort: “I’ll have to consider that as a possible cause for your insistence in claiming me as your wife.” She grew steadily braver as he returned a roguish smile to her. “I do perceive that you’ve been something of a rake.”
“Madam?” His brow slanted up.
Her eyes briefly marked the gifts on the bed. “You certainly seem to know how to dress a lady.” She gave him a look askance. “Or should I say undress?”
Ashton protested her charge with a lopsided smile. “I’ve been a blessed saint, madam.”
“Hm.” Lierin strolled about, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “I wonder.”
“Wonder no more, my love,” he advised her with a lively sparkle in his eyes. “I swear to you that I savored no other wench while your memory burned in my mind.”
“Burned in your mind?” She turned to him again with a quizzical smile. “Just how long did the fire of my memory last? A week? A month? A year?”
Ashton laughed with pleasure, cheered by the fact that he was seeing glimpses of a personality that was more like his Lierin. His gaze warmed as it raked her. “Were you not so badly bruised, my love, I would show you how desperate a man I have become.”
Her smile slowly faded. “You have no doubt charmed many women out of their virtue, sir. I only hope I do not find myself a victim of some ploy you’ve contrived.”
Ashton grew serious as he sensed that her worry was genuine. “What are you afraid of, Lierin?”
She heaved a wavering sigh and let a long moment pass before she replied: “I have this fear that I’m not really your wife, and if I let you become my husband, I will someday realize my mistake. By then, it might be too late. I could find myself with child. I might fall in love with you, and I’m afraid of being hurt.”
Ashton went to her and stood before her, resisting the urge to take her into his arms. “I love you, Lierin, and I play no games with your heart. I married you because I wanted you for my wife. Whatever children our love may bear, they will have a proper name and a claim to all my holdings. I promise you that.”
Though she wanted to hold him at arm’s length for her own good, she was becoming increasingly aware of him as a man. Her spirit was nurtured by the comfort he so easily bestowed on her, and she wanted to draw succor from his caring attention. “It’s difficult to accept the idea of being married, Ashton, when I know so little about myself.”
“That’s understandable, my love. We were together for such a brief period, you barely had time to get accustomed to the idea.”
“And yet,” she murmured thoughtfully, staring at the golden band on her finger, “I wear this ring. Do you recognize it?”
He lifted her hand and considered the circle of gold a long moment before replying: “I had no time to purchase anything but a plain band for you. If my memory serves me correctly, this is the ring I gave you.”
She felt the warmth of his gaze on her face and dared to glance up. “Perhaps we are married, Ashton, and I’m just letting my fears blind me to that fact.”
“Don’t torment yourself, my love,” he urged. “Hopefully, after further rest your memory will come back, and you’ll know the truth.”
“I await that moment anxiously.”
“So do I, my love. So do I.”
Chapter Four
THE parlor was the gathering place for the Wingate family before the evening meal. It was a time for conversation and restful pleasantries, a goblet of sherry or a small draft of a stronger beverage, a few more tapestry stitches, or a tinkling melody played on the harpsichord. Sometimes the rich, mellow sounds of the cello flowed through the house, either as part of a duet of the two instruments, or singly, as it was played this evening. Marelda’s hopes soared as she listened to the musical strains, for she knew Ashton was the only one in the household who could make the instrument come alive with such warmth. He was a man of many talents, a perfectionist who strove to succeed in all things.
Marelda paused in front of the hall mirror to give herself a last complimentary appraisal. Her black hair was artfully arranged to set off her sultry facade, having been swept in deep, lush waves to one side, where it was gathered in a cluster of ringlets that dangled prettily from behind her ear. She had worn the gown of dark red taffeta with the hope that Ashton would be at dinner, and now that she knew she would not be disappointed, she smiled smugly to herself. She considered the selection of the gown a stroke of genius on her part. The illusion of voluptuousness had been created by the use of padding sewn inside her chemise where it would press her small breasts upward. The shallow bodice seemed unable to contain the structured fullness and threatened to dip below the line of decency and reveal the darker hues of her bosom. A man would be hard pressed to ignore such a daring décolletage, and since Ashton was very much of that gender, she expected him to be susceptible. Of course, her display might shock the elder ladies, but if it succeeded in winning Ashton’s regard and arousing his manly lusts, then it would be well worth her exposure. She would not sit idly by while the redhead made so much of her invalid state.